


Rose Moments

by evadne



Series: Portions of Happiness [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Awkwardness, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, References to Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evadne/pseuds/evadne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly's never slept with a beta before, and Sally's only slept with one omega. This is bound to be weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rose Moments

Molly follows Sally to her room, telling herself over and over that this isn’t weird. It isn’t weird that she just been kissing her best friend and that they’re about to have sex. It isn’t weird to be going off to have sex with someone without feeling hormones roaring through her body, making rational thought impossible. Normally, cognition would have departed by now, and she wouldn’t even be able to have all these thoughts about how this definitely isn’t weird.

 

‘This is going to be strange,’ Sally tells her, suggesting that Molly’s doing a bad job not only of keeping the thought out of her mind but also of keeping it from showing on her face.

 

‘I was trying –‘ she starts.

 

Sally smiles at her.  ‘You can’t make it not strange by sheer force of will. You’ve never slept with a beta before, right? And I’ve only ever slept with one omega. This isn’t what either of us is used to, and when you factor in how close friends we are –‘

 

‘Yeah,’ Molly says. ‘Yeah, OK.’ She stops outside Sally’s bedroom door. ‘Um, let’s kiss again for a minute,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t thinking about how weird it was when we were kissing.’

 

Sally smiles wider, and that smile – it gets Molly deep down, because Sally looks so unbelievably _happy_ to be here with her, and that is stranger than anything. But perhaps not in a bad way.

 

When they kiss, Molly can focus on the warmth of it, the care Sally takes with her. And she can feel, bubbling up from the depths of her body, something which bears a resemblance to arousal as she’s known it before. It’s a slower, darker thing than anything she’s previously experienced. Normally arousal comes on very quickly, and from everywhere in her body at once, exploding from every particle of her to flood her system extravagantly, every empty space in her filled ten times over by fountains of liquid light. This creeps, could be ignored if she wanted to ignore it, hums far below her skin, not surfacing yet.

 

If she doesn’t concentrate she could lose sight of it, and so kissing is what she needs to be doing now, because kissing makes her aware of it in a way she isn’t when they aren’t touching. As if the feeling is connected to Sally personally, has as much to do with her as it does with Molly. When Molly sleeps with alphas, the alpha in question triggers  the arousal but after that it comes on and the individuality of the alpha – still matters, yes, but recedes a little in deference to the all-importance of scent and chemicals. This new arousal feels much more delicate and easily lost, but also more present, more specialised.

 

So Molly concentrates on the gentle warmth of Sally’s mouth, Sally’s curls pressing against Molly’s cheeks, until Sally draws back and says, ‘Let’s go in.’

 

Sally’s room is done up in cool colours, soft blues and greys, but there’s nothing cold about it. For all that Molly’s seen Sally be cutting and brusque – though never to Molly herself – it’s hard to imagine a space of hers being unwelcoming.

 

Sally is, in many ways, conventional, and her room reflects that. There’s a big, solid plain vase full of roses, Sally’s favourite flower – _boring, I know_ , she said when she first mentioned that fact. There are lots of books, many of which look to be bestsellers or otherwise well-known. There’s a laptop, a couple of prints from famous artists - Molly thinks Van Goghs and Turners - and some photographs of Sally’s family. It’s all very ordinary, and in that, Molly thinks, it’s entirely unlike the home of anyone else Molly knows.

 

The thought prompts her to say: ‘I envy you sometimes, you know. You’re so sure of yourself.’

 

‘Not always, believe me,’ Sally says, her mouth quirking up at the side.

 

‘Inherently, though,’ Molly insists. ‘In general.’

 

 It’s not the first time she’s said it, but usually Sally laughs it off. Now, however, she looks thoughtfully at Molly and says, ‘What do you mean?’

 

‘Everyone else I know sort of – broadcasts their individuality,’ Molly says. ‘God, I know I do it. If I read a book I think’s a bit unusual or that not that many other people like I bring it into work, and I tell myself it’s so I can read it at lunch or something, but really in the hope that someone’ll see it and ask and I can tell them all about it and they’ll know something about who I am. It’s – kind of pathetic. You – ‘ Molly looks around the room – ‘you aren’t boring, you aren’t just like everyone else, and I think you know it well enough not to need to – tell everyone all the time.’

 

‘People that don’t look twice to see who I am,’ Sally says with a shrug, ‘are people I don’t want to know me anyway. Your problem is you’re always letting people who don’t deserve it get to know you. You’re too nice.’

 

Molly doesn’t think her problem is being too nice. She thinks her problem is being pathetic and not knowing what she wants. As demonstrated quite neatly by the fact that she’s standing in Sally’s bedroom and they’re a metre apart from each other, not to mention a metre away from the bed.

 

Purposefully, with confidence she certainly doesn’t feel, Molly breaches one of those distances and sits down on the bed.

 

‘Good idea,’ Sally says, sitting down beside her. She turns Molly to face her, and strokes hair out of her eyes. Molly swears she can feel the texture of Sally’s fingerprints on her temples.

 

‘This really is going to be weird, isn’t it?’ Molly says.

 

‘And awkward, and difficult,’ Sally agrees. ‘But – if you want to – if you really, really want to do this – I think we’ll find a way to figure it out. ‘

 

‘I want to,’ Molly says, and feels the truth of it in her body. She’s getting wet now – not as uncontrollably, embarrassingly wet as she does with alphas, when her underwear ends up sopping, and she doesn’t feel desperate to be _filled_ with something like she does then. But she’s definitely stirring, and she definitely wants to touch herself. Or have someone else touch her.

 

Type 2 betas’ bodies are, as far as Molly understands, not dissimilar to omegas. Their openings produce less moisture, and open less wide; they’re also much shallower and the deepest part is extremely narrow. Molly suspects she’s going to feel like a gaping chasm in comparison, but Sally’s slept with an omega before and presumably knows what to expect.

 

Molly swallows, and starts unbuttoning her shirt.


End file.
